Haiku On High

Checkerboard below beckons:
white houses, green fields,
freeways.  Another descent.
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Flying many thousand feet toward heaven, after a couple glasses of wine in my pressurized tin space capsule, what better time and place to write haiku?  The best thing about air travel might be the opportunity it affords us to feel really, really small.  Flying from Seattle to Arizona in June:

Sandstone redder than sundown
Zion lies below
airplane-space diminished
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From an airplane, the tiny houses, cars and bridges speckle the landscape like so many ants crawling up a sugar slope.  The mountains, rivers and deserts assume rightful proportions:

Snowfields stretch oblong, rest low
between gray-brown humps --
desert resisting springtime.
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